Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Segregated body

I am writing without heart. It’s so
audacious on my part - heart is an indispensable organ of writing. I am running
out of words as well. May be it’s one of the consequences of leaving heart
aside.This is strange but I am still
feeling good. You know like being on a desert alone yet wandering as if its an
orchard, a gold world.

***

I pursue a wait. The fireflies
around guide the directions but the path is sickly dark. I am walking and
walking forth. There’s no anticipation but it’s just the wait to reach the
sidle and see what lies beyond the space. The indefiniteness of this address
may fall apart. But I do not have any fear.

***

The cotton puffs in the blue above
my head attract me. They can heal the blood wounds. The sacred white gust of
clouds invites me towards a greater heaven than humanly dreams. There is no
hope. Its not needed. They talk of no relations. I feel I have wings, beautiful
wings and I nothing else I implore.